The prince of the hills
by gatomonfan
Summary: Harry potter was banished from earth when Voldemort tried to kill him. Raised as a prince of middle earth, he is smart, handsome and mysterious. But what has this got to do with the fellowship of the ring? Even more confusing are the 3 fighters that seem to have developed a crush on him and the dwarf who is acting like a mother hen! What is arda coming to? Slash
1. Chapter 1

**A.n. Hi guys. So I had this empty note book and I was wondering, what should I do with this, next thing I know I was holding my fountain pen and writing my next fanfiction.**

**Summary: harry potter was banished from earth when voldemort tried to kill him. Raised as a prince of middle earth, he is smart, handsome and mysterious. But what has this got to do with the fellowship of the ring? Even more confusing are the 3 fighters that seem to have developed a crush on him and the dwarf who is acting like a mother hen! What is arda coming to? Slash!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own lord of the rings or harry potter otherwise this would be a proper book and I wouldn't be on this site! Please note any characters you don't remember reading about in a book or seeing in a film probably belongs to me.**

**N.t.r. Dear readers,**

**Should you have any questions or suggestions for this or any other fiction that belongs to me I am all ears. I will reply, and any suggestions I use that you have suggested I will give you credit for.**

**Now on with this fanfiction.**

**Prince of the hills**

**Chapter 1 ~ the prince arrives**

_31__st__ October 1981-Godric's hollow_

The streets of Godric's Hollow were quiet. The muggles, finished their Halloween celebrations, had returned to the warmth of their homes. One figure, however, remained. Wrapped in a dark hooded cloak, it was impossible to see any of his features other than a cruel smirk that revealed perfectly straight white teeth. Despite the early winter chill, he stoically refused to pull his cloak tighter. To set on his destination to pay the howling wind any heed.

Tonight would be big. Probably the biggest night in his career as a dark lord. For tonight, he would finally be rid of the annoying thorns in his side that were the potters, but more importantly he would be rid of the one threat to his power. The thrice damned prophecy child. A spy of his, had been spying on Dumbledore when the prophecy had been told. The meddling old man had been looking for a divination teacher at the time. The woman, Sybil Trelawney, he had been interviewing had been failing miserably for the job, despite her claims to be yet another seer in a long line of them, when she had spouted a prophecy shocking everyone who had been following the interview and even some who hadn't.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..._

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, _

_Born as the seventh month dies..._

That was all his spy had managed to hear but it was more than enough to make him angry.

He was the dark lord Voldemort. Most people were to scared to even say his name. Like a child could ever defeat him! He would be a rally point for wizarding Britain however and that couldn't be allowed.

His followers had been down this street before in their attempts to find the potter, but they couldn't see it. He could. He knew the secret.

The potters had chosen the wrong secret keeper. Had they stayed firm on their decision to use the traitorous black they might have survived longer. Ironically it was black who suggested he act as a decoy, he would have to live with the fact for the rest of his live. How deliciously tragic!

Worried that the were wolf was a spy, the potters had chosen the worst choice possible. The rat had been so scared for his life that he had squealed the secret easily making the fidelius charm useless.

He could see it. A small cottage, warm and cosy, stood innocently at the end of the street. He could see James potter, recognizable by his large glasses and messy black hair, through the window, laughing at, presumably, something his mud blood wife, lily, had said. It was disgusting that a pure blood, light or not, would want to marry a muggle born, no matter how smart or pretty said muggle born was.

The small white gate swung open without resistance, surprising voldemort who had been expecting a bit more resistance. He felt the tingle of magic as he passed through the wards but didn't stop to unravel them as he usually would. The door to the cottage opened as easily as the gate, needing only a wave of his wand for the lock to break. By now the occupants of the house had clued onto what was going on, to bad for them it was to late to do anything about it. He cackled.

James potter was waiting for him inside, ever the gryffindor he faced him with courage and honour but no amount of courage could stop the killing curse and his body soon fell lifelessly to the floor.

Unaffected by the life he had just taken, the dark lord glided up the stairs, following the wails of the child he was here to kill. The door to what he assumed was the nursery was more stubborn than the front door, the mud blood had probably boosted its lock with a spell of some-kind. Not wishing to waste any time trying to unlock it, he sent a 'bombarda' at it, cackling with glee at the scream he received as the door was blown to splinters.

"Not Harry! Please not Harry!

The red head was standing between him and the cradle, fear evident in her eyes yet she was still determined to protect the child. He pointed his wand at her in preparation to kill her but paused when he remembered his spy's request.

"Stand aside you silly girl... stand aside now!" He ordered.

"Not harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!" She pleaded. Fed up of the girls snivelling, he let the fatal words escape his lips, watching with satisfaction as she screamed for the final time and fell limp in a similar fashion to her husband. Now for the child. After tonight nobody would dare go against him, the potter family would be an example of what happened if you went against voldemort.

He turned his gaze from the mud blood on the floor to the quiet child watching him from the crib. Voldemort glared at the baby. He'd just murdered the things mother right in front of it and he wasn't even upset. It must be some family trait in potters that made it impossible for them to be scared. What was that muggle saying? Like father, like son? Yes, that was it. He would take pleasure in watching the life leave those emerald orbs just like he watched the life leave the merry brown eyes of the brats father.

'Avada kadavra' he intoned with relish, watching the green light streak out of his wand and fly towards the child. That was when all hell broke loose. The curse, to which there were no known survivors, hit the child before rebounding, turning on its caster. Soul was ripped from body, and a magical tension that had been waiting to be released for years snapped, setting of an explosion which knocked down wall and part of the tiled roof. In all the confusion, no one was around to see little harry vanish into thin air.

_day 54, firith, third age ~ middle earth, iron hills_

It was a lonely day in the iron hills. The iron hills were more like small mountains than hills and virtually inaccessible if you didn't know the paths. Grouped closely together, the walls of the mountains sloped down to create a natural bowl like valley. A castle built in a similar style to rivendell, filled half of the valley, the rest was given over to the small village that had grown up around the castle in the time it had been here.

The village was empty now. It had been that way for 30 years since the queen died during child birth. Her husband was still around but hadn't been the same since. He was old now, his blue eyes had lost their sparkle and his long blond hair had turned grey and lost it's shine, he had a haggard look, a look which was mirrored perfectly by the castle. Spiders webs were in every crevice, the floor was littered with uneven tiles and chunks of marble crumbled from the once beautiful pillars. The servants who usually took such care of the castle and its grounds had lost heart along with their king. The excitement that had run through the veins of everyone in the vicinity when they found out the queen was pregnant had long since faded leaving only a sense of emptiness in its place. Now it took all the strength they had to get out of beds and make the meals. They only ever left the confines of the castle to get food, so paid no mind to the multitude of weeds in the gardens or the withered remains of what were once her majesty's favourite orchids.

The stables, which were once filled with stallions and mares with better pedigrees than even the rohan horses, now were in various states of disrepair, the fine horses it had once housed were turned lose in the paddock to do as they pleased.

The gloomy mood that had settled over the valley scared off the few visitors that found a path. It was very lonely indeed.

The king, Nendaer, was staring listlessly out of the window, watching storm clouds colouring the sky above black. The wind picked up, its screams swirling around the valley.

Strange he could hear the warning thunder, yet a single drop of rain had yet to fall. If he had been in his right mind, he would have wondered why, but as it was, he wasn't, so he didn't.

Lightning arched down from the sky, linking the ground to the clouds like great pillars of energy. Not a single bolt, despite the impressive quantity of them, hit the castle walls. It was a miracle really.

Storms like this were strange in the iron hills. If their were storms they were usually snow or hail storms. Even stranger than the storm though was the lightning currently cleaving the sky in two. It wasn't white, or the rare occasional blue or pink. It was green. Emerald green.

A single bolt, the most impressive in the whole storm, raced down from the cloud. It impacted with the large square plot of soil in the centre of the courtyard, creating a multitude of equally green sparks. The thunder that followed, reverberated off the mountain walls, echoing around the valley like the cry of a giant warg.

Then everything stopped. The thunder silenced, the lightning stopped flashing and sunlight filtered in through the murky blackness of the clouds.

The inhabitants of the castle held their breaths waiting for the next rumble of thunder, not daring to believe that, what was quite possibly the greatest and strangest storm ever to ravage the iron hills, was over. What reached their ears however, was a noise they never expected to hear again. For the noise they heard was the wail of a child.

_day 54, firith ~ valinor_

The valar watched with smiles of pleasure as the mortal named Nendaer, picked up the recently orphaned child and took him into the warmth of his castle.

It had been risky sending the child to middle earth. Death had claimed the child as his champion, dooming the boy, who was already burdened with a prophecy, to an immortal fate. Had he grown up in his home world, he would have watched as his loved ones died whilst he didn't age a day past 20. It would be a lot less painful for him if he grew up in a world where there were other immortals that he could live with if he so wished

The prophecy had made things a little bit harder than they would have been if the boy were normal, however fate had been appeased when they pointed out that the Longbottom child also fit her prophecy's conditions.

Having decided that the young immortal had more to gain in middle earth, the valar had used the chaotic magic, that always hummed in the air on samhain but was increased by the wild magic used to harness the killing curse, to send him there.

If the valar had anything to say about it the child would never want for anything. Well maybe a mother, but you can't have everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.n. Hi guys. Boy was I surprised when I got up this morning to 25 emails from fanfiction. I just want to thank those 3 reviewers, 12 followers and 10 favourites. Thanks also to the other followers and favourites who have joined the count whilst I've been typing up this chapter. I've never had that kind of response in one night before and think its really sweet. This chapter is for all of you and will be the last one I post before returning to school tomorrow. So here it is the next chapter of the prince of the hills.**

**Chapter 2 ~ the life of an immortal prince is a tough one (but two indebted elves certainly helps)**

_day 31, rh__ȋw ~ iron hills_

Eleven years later found a twelve year old child looking out of a tower window, watching snow flakes dance with each other as they drifted to the ground eight stories below.

The height didn't bother him, it never had. It was strange but he had this strange feeling that if he were to jump through the window he would survive. He didn't feel like trying though.

Rainion was his name. Or at least, that was what his father had named him. He knew he had been adopted, just as he knew the story of how he had been found, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He was unaware that back in his old world he would have been counted as a child prodigy, already at a level in his studies most people would have to study for a decade to get to. The king had caught onto his sons talent and took every chance to exploit it.

He taught his son every language he knew and encouraged him to use the library to learn others. A year that was all it took for the young genius to learn Sindarian, Quenya, dwarfish, mannish and westron. Nendaer had thought his son had learnt every language on middle earth, so unsurprisingly was rather shocked when he found his son in deep conversation with a grass snake, in a language that sounded remarkably similar to that of the nazgul.

Once he had languages down, Rainion moved onto to chess and music. Wondering how he could encourage this (as neither was a subject he was particularly good at) he had ordered a goldsmith to forge a chess board from gold, the pieces that went with it were as detailed as they could get, carved from mithril and obsidian. A carpenter was enlisted to carve a harp and lyre from elm wood, which the gold smith later bejewelled with emeralds and sapphires.

Both of these craftsmen were new members of the village which had slowly filled back up with villagers after the adoption of the young prince. The houses, which had been slowly falling to ruin, covered with a blanket of cobwebs and weeds, were being steadily repaired. They weren't the only things getting repaired.

The stables now stood proud, roof repaired and the rotting wood replaced. Fresh straw was lain out in the stalls and new hay and water were placed in the appropriate spots. The horse who had run free for all these years were caught, retrained and led back to their appropriate stalls.

Back in the castle the pillars in the throne room had been restored to their former glory. Cracks that had once made the floor treacherous had been plastered up so well that it was impossible to tell that they had ever been there at all. The cobwebs that had hung in every crevice like thick curtains had been removed and the arachnids had disappeared with them.

The grounds that had been overrun by weeds, were now clear, the withered flowers had been replaced by fresh bulbs, which the gardeners had high hopes for come spring. What was the most impressive however was the young blossom tree growing from the plot of soil in the middle of the cobbled courtyard. It had yet to show any blossoms but it leaves had been a vivid green for the past two laer's. Both servants and royalty were waiting with baited breath for next ethuil, when it was predicted the tree would finally bloom.

Everyone had gotten a much needed jump start the night of the storm and the valley, once desolate and sad, now was an excited hive of activity. Even those living outside of the iron hills knew something had changed even if they didn't know what.

Rhȋw was in full blast by now. Everything was covered in a crispy blanket of white, the gurgling stream that came down from the mountains and pooled out into a small creak in one of the northern gardens had frozen over, even the trees bowed low from the weight of the powder piled high on their limbs. Rainion was alone most of the time. His father had travelled down to rohan for some sort of political meeting before the snow had set in. Needless to say, the snow had delayed his return. The ice hidden beneath its cold layers, made the mountain passes treacherous, making any travel to and from the valley dangerous and near impossible.

Fed up of the constant fussing of the castle servants he bayed them find something more productive to do with their time, letting his attention turn to the beauty of the snow against a starless night. Often he would spend winter nights like these practising his latest instrument, the violin, or capturing the picturesque view outside of the window in a painting (yet another of his countless talents), but neither of these could gain his interest tonight so he settled for watching the world pass by outside of the warm confines of the tower room.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, maybe it had been hours or just minutes, just sitting there, watching, but all of a sudden an urge to look down at the white ground miles below started to twitch in the back of his mind. It was subtle at first. Just a dull feeling. Then it slowly started to grow in strength until he was practically forced to follow his instincts. Later he would be glad he did.

It took Rainion a few minutes to realize what he was looking at. They were nearly completely buried in the snow but they were there. Curled up in the snow, their long hair spread out around their heads like halos, were to humanoid figures. After that everything seemed to speed up. He blinked, only to find himself halfway down the stairs and still moving, acting almost completely on instinct. Before he knew it, the servants were laying the figures by the fire in his tower room, having been brought running by his shouted orders. You didn't have to be a genius to know that time was of the essence when it came to saving someone who had fainted in the snow. Rainion was only glad that he had looked down when he did, otherwise they could have found corpses when the snow finally thawed.

Whilst he waited for his guests to regain consciousness, Rainion took the time to inspect the castle's mysterious visitors. Snow melted on long eyelashes and fine eyebrows as full lips slowly changed from a pale blue to a lush red. Pointed ears peaked out through matted long hair. They were obviously elves. The elf closest to the fire was the polar opposite to his friend in the regards of looks. Whilst both sported high cheek bones, pale skin and long hair the similarities stopped their. Golden locks loose but for a single plait starting from the top of his head and reaching down past his shoulders, contrasted with his companions dark brown waves pulled back into a tight ponytail. The eye of the pale haired elf were at a more obvious slant than the eyes of the dark haired elves and by the looks of it he was also taller although it was hard tell as they had yet to uncurl themselves from the positions they had taken when they had fainted outside.

The brunette was the first to awaken, brown eyes blinking at the fire for a few seconds before turning to survey the room.

It was on of the largest rooms in the tower. The fire crackled merrily behind a golden guard. A rug covered in green and red patterns covered the floor, disappearing beneath chairs and a table, reappearing again once it reach the other end. Tapestry's depicting fantasy animals such as unicorns and pegasi adorned the walls hiding whatever wallpaper was underneath. Weapons and instruments were placed on various shelves, leaving little room for the many books Rainion owned, many of which sat in a pile on the small wooden desk beneath the window.

Muddy orbs turned to stare into emerald green. Rainion watched silently as the dark haired elf looked him up and down. He knew what the elf saw, what he would think however would be an entirely different story. Long ebony hair fell down to his thighs, flowing down his back like a river reflecting a starless night. The silky strands contrasted with his alabaster skin tone making it seem almost white in comparison. Pale lips were an emotionless line beneath a nose that was in just the right proportions to give his elegant face a more mature and regal look. A three layer jabot, fastened with a ruby brooch, sat around his neck. A black layered frock coat with green trim, left unbuttoned, went nicely with the rich red, high collared vest underneath. His hands were clad in white velvet gloves. Tailored black trousers vanished beneath knee high brown leather boots making it so that only his face was and hair was visible.

"Where am I?" Rainion looked up from straightening his coat which he had been doing whilst waiting for his guest to finish his observations. Giving the elf his full attention he cut straight to the chase.

"The main room of my living quarters in the castle of the iron hills."

"I see. And you are?" his guest asked shortly.

"Prince Rainion. The crown prince to this kingdom."

They sat there in silence for a few seconds whilst the elf sorted out this new information. He opened his mouth to ask another question but was interrupted by the moans of his companion as he sluggishly returned to the world of the conscious. Silver eyes unknowingly followed the same path as brown eventually stopping when they met emerald.

Introducing himself once more for the sake of the second elf, Rainion decided to finally try and get some answers to some of his own questions.

"Might I have the pleasure of asking with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?" The elves exchanged glances before nodding.

"My name is Lithuinir." The brunette introduced himself first, giving a small bow of his head.

"And mine, is Írdir." The blonde followed shortly after, finishing with the same small bow of his head as Lithuinir. Both of these elves obviously knew he was in a higher position than them and respected him for it but weren't about to get down on their knees and fulfil his every wish.

Rainion found he liked that. For as long as he could remember his father and the servants had given him everything he could ever wish for. It didn't matter what it was, as long as he wanted it, it was his. If he had been anyone else he would have been quite spoilt by now. But these elves, they didn't care that he was royalty, they would respect him but that was as far as they would go.

"How did you end up in the iron hills in weather like this? My own father has been kept in rohan what would make you risk travelling in such weather?" finally deciding to stop beating around the bush he took the topic right to the source. Once more the elves exchanged glances before offering up an answer.

"We heard rumours that the kingdom settled in the iron valley was being restored and repopulated and came to offer assistance. The journey was longer than expected and by the time we got here, the snow had picked up. We lost consciousness when the snow finally got to the point where we could barely see each other." It was Írdir who finally answered, distractedly running his fingers through his hair in a pointless attempt to rid it of the tangles currently twisting around each other like a mess of rope.

The conversation was replaced with an abrupt awkward silence after that. Anything that would have made for great discussions normally seemed inappropriate for the circumstances or to informal to talk about with someone you barely knew.

Tired of the silence that now filled the room, Rainion stood, brushing off invisible dirt from his lap, before clearing his throat.

"If your well enough to stand, allow me to show you to the guests quarter." he stated politely once he had gained their attention. Without another word he turned on his heel, exiting through the wooden door and setting a quick pace down the spiralling stone stairs behind it. The echo of footsteps behind him let him know that they had followed, but he didn't slow.

Leading the elves through twisting corridors, through gilded doors and up red carpet steps. Eventually they reached the north west tower. furthest away from the rooms of the royal family in the south towers, it had been made into the guest suite, with the intention, that should a guest have harmful intentions they would have a long maze like walk between them and the royals. It would be impossible for anyone to learn the quickest way between the towers without either living at the castle for an extended period of time or repetitive visits. Neither of these conditions would apply to anyone the crown didn't trust.

Hearing the slight panting of the elves, who were already exhausted before the long fast paced walk, he took pity on them, leading them into the rooms closest to the tower entrance.

Just because they were guest rooms didn't mean that they were any less decorated. Paintings of dragons and mountains with golden frames hung on white washed walls. A door opposite the entrance led to an on-suite bathroom. A blue fluffy carpet covered the plain hard wood floor, and went nicely with the red armchairs and marble fireplace. A four poster bed was positioned in one corner so that its white drapes acted like curtains for the window at its side.

Nodding good night to the elves, Rainion left them to bathe and retire to their rooms, after showing them were they could find a fresh change of clothes and towels.

_day 16, laer ~ iron hills_

An eighteen year old laughed alongside his companions as their mounts raced over soil and stone, their long hair being snatched by the wind, and trailing behind them like long banners. They were a sight to see.

Two elves, a blond and a brunette, rode fine stallions, fast and agile, at the shoulder of a young man. The young man seemed to glow in a similar fashion to the elves in his company. The glow of immortality. But there was something different to his glow, it was purer, brighter. As though the sun were directly behind him and yet above him as well.

His mount was as beautiful as his rider. A stag, his antlers in their twelfth growth and his coat a rare milky white, easily kept at the head of the group, seemingly holding back his full speed in consideration for the horses racing behind him who were both thoroughly coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

They were the hunt. A prince, soon to be king, and his two 'bodyguards' although they were more like close friends. All three were clad in expensive looking clothes, from underneath which the glint of mithril armour could be glimpsed. Elm wood bows hung on their backs next to full quivers of arrows. Swords, or a rapier in the young man's case, hung from their belt, next to a pair of finely forged hunting knives.

Rainion, for he was of course the prince in question, had grown a lot in the past six years. Easily as tall as the elves, he stood with a straight back and proud gleam in his eyes. A golden circlet was nestled on his ebony locks, plaits starting at the sides were pulled back where they joined a larger central plait. The rest of his hair hung loose tumbling down in cascades past his shoulders. His clothing was similar to the clothes he wore when he was twelve, with only one difference that was really noticeable, a white shirt now resided underneath the vest, long sleeves coved his long pale arms with pleated layers, that feathered out over his hands.

The two elves were the same elves he had saved all those years ago. Lithuinir and Írdir. They had not been lying when they said they had come to the valley to offer assistance. Although the assistance they gave was obviously different from what they had been intending. In order to repay the life debt they owed him, and with permission from his father, took up places as the bodyguards of the crown prince. Over the years they had grown closer, and were now virtually inseparable, the stubborn elves refusing to let their charge go anywhere in public without at least one of them tagging along.

When Rainion had learnt everything there was to learn of the finer hobbies for a prince, such as crafts and music, he had turned his attention to hunting and fighting. Both elves had turned out to be respectable tutors, teaching them every trick of combat and tracking. They taught him the importance of packing lightly and treading with light steps, how to pull back the string of a bow for optimum power and accuracy when loosing arrow. He had taken everything in stride, easily winning his first encounter with a pack of orcs.

The hunts for orcs were more often now and would last for months on end. Rainion found himself feeling useless if he stayed in the castle to long. His father was restricted to bed rest now, his age having finally caught up with him. Everyone knew he would die soon, their was nothing anyone could do about it. Not even the best elvish healing could stop death once it was someone's time.

Their return to their home was usually announced with cheers, music and crowds. The sound of a kingdom celebrating the return of its prince after months of travelling. Today was different. It was obvious the second they rode through the gates, the crowd who usually awaited them were nowhere in sight, and the few villagers in sight wore black. Someone had died.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 ~ Death is a sad thing, but a person with a cold heart is worse.**

They rode up to the castle in silence. The sinking feeling in Rainion's stomach grew with every step. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was dead, a suspicion which grew with every villager wearing black that entered his vision.

Golden gates were wide open when they finally reached them. Guards saluted them as they passed, but they paid them no heed, all that mattered right now was checking on his father and putting these stupid ideas to rest. It was probably just one of the more popular and respected elders of the village, that was all. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Right? Right! So why didn't he still have an uneasy feeling?

Stopping in the courtyard, the prince and his bodyguards were quick to dismount. Usually they would have stopped to brush them down and remove tack but today was different. Someone had died today and it was imperative they found out who as quickly as possible.

Aras, the stag, had been yet another gift from his father. Rainion usually rode him without a saddle or bridle, using only a piece of golden rope to steer, unless he was riding to impress. If that was the case, a mithril croupiere would cover the hind quarters, secured behind a white saddle. A criniere, peytral and champron covered Aras' neck, face and chest, all three items were made of the same precious metal as the croupiere, with special holes cut into the champron to allow for the antlers and gems in blue's, orange's and green's were set into the metal at regular intervals. Two rings stuck out of the champron on either side of the stags face through which was threaded red ribbon, which would stand in for the usual rope.

Rainion cared a lot for the stag, allowing him to stay with the horses in their stalls or wonder the sides of the mountains as he wished, personally making sure he was fed and cared for, and would not normally allow a stable hand anywhere near him but no matter how much he loved Aras, his farther would always come first and foremost. Counting on the fact that their mounts would be cared for by the servants, the elves and the prince walked at a fast and steady through the familiar halls of their home, not even pausing for breath when they reached the door to the kings tower. If anything they sped up, literally taking the steps two at a time, only stopping when they reached the top.

Their eyes widened at the sight before them. The curtains were drawn, stopping any sunlight from entering. Their speedy arrival had sent a small gust into the room, setting the flames of hundreds of candles flickering, making elongated shadows dance over the furniture and walls. But in the whole room, nothing was as upsetting as what lay on the bed. The form of a tallish man could just about be made out from the creases in the linen cloth that covered his face and body. His chest was still and no breath was being drawn from underneath the confines of the cloth.

Death had finally claimed the king of the iron hills.

A strangled cry of disbelief and pain escaped panting lips, before the prince fell to his knees by the bed, his head coming to rest between his arms. Midnight hair spread out around him like a halo, and his body shaking as sobs escaped his body. There was nothing more painful to see than a son kneeling by his fathers death bed.

Lithuinir and Írdir were in shock. As elves, who were of course immortal, death was an unfamiliar prospect. They were quick to bury their own feelings though, the child they protected and loved was suffering a lot worse than they were and needed emotional comfort.

The death of a loved one is probably one of the worst challenges for a man to face. When someone you care for dies its like a part of you has been stolen. It makes it hard to see the happiness in the world or that there are still people that care for you. But the worst fate that come from the sudden shock of death is to lose ones emotions. Emotion are what makes someone special, you could be extra loving or extremely hateful. Either way emotion makes up more than 68% of your personality. Without emotion you are nothing more than a shadow. A person who goes through life like a worn out machine. Going through the motions of living but not really living. Not feeling. Not loving. Just a cold emptiness and a bitter hate as you watch others complain about something you will never have. I guess it's true what they say. You don't know what you have until it's gone.

This was the case with Nendaer, and like father, like son, it was the case with his son.

**(pay attention to the next two paragraphs they are important to the rest of the fanfiction)**

Hate is a strange thing. Unlike the other emotion which need a reason or cause, hate like it's opposite, love, is blind, but it is also jealous, has no need to be mutual, and can be quite deadly if aloud to grow. You could meet someone and take an instant disliking to them without any apparent cause but that wasn't hate.

No, hate was a lot more complicated than that. Hate was the voice that whispered in your ear when you watched someone get praise for something you could do with less effort but no one ever praised you on after the first time. Hate was what drove a knife into another's heart and then stopped you from caring. It was the reason you would ignore something or (if you were the cowardly type) the thing that would make you avoid it entirely, going out of your way to avoid coming into contact with it, even if that meant making their (if it was a someone) life miserable.

The funeral for the dead king was held eight days after the princes return, so that he would have time to come to grips with his fathers death and could give support to his people. Or at least that was the idea. Much to the distress of the servants and his bodyguards, Rainion had locked himself away in his room, only coming out for meals, during which periods any emotion was masked with a cold expression, not even his eyes (which elves believe are the windows to someone's soul) gave away what was boiling underneath the mask.

Elenya brought silence with it. Black versions of the servants garb had been made and pressed ready for the gloomy occasion to take place that day. For the first time in the past eight days, Rainion left his room before a meal could be sent to his room. He had no wish to sit there and endure fresh wave of pity. His mind had been in emotional turmoil for the last couple of days, torn between overwhelming sadness and a cold indifference. He chose the second emotion in the end. Ignoring the pain was easier than facing it, besides he had a kingdom to run and he knew what had happened to it when his father had given in to the sadness. He would not make the same mistake. So he hid his emotions behind a strong mask.

Carefully he wound his way through the corridors, pausing slightly at the door to his bodyguards suite, wondering whether to bring them with him, but he continued again seconds later without knocking. He didn't need those two fussing over him right now.

Rainion found himself on the far end of the north gardens, sitting on the marble bench in the centre of the castles labyrinth. He didn't recall navigating the twisting hedges. He had been to busy thinking. Thinking about things like the servants, his bodyguards, his father before he had died, even the villagers, all of them fussed over him, his bodyguards to a lesser extent but they still joined in. Either they treated him like a messiah, sent down to middle earth by the valar, someone who could do no wrong or they thought of him as a child, one who was particularly needy, always needing someone to protect him and watch over him, who needed his food cut for him and would bruise if the bedding was to hard. He was fed up of it. Those thoughts circled around his mind along with a memory. It wasn't a new memory. It would occasionally show up in his dreams. It was always the same. A handsome man, with brown curls and ruby eyes would point a stick at a red head with Rainion's emerald green eyes. The girl would plead for his, or at least he assumed it was his, life (or at least that's what her body language and tone suggested, Rainion didn't recognize the language). The man got angry at her, yelled something in gibberish, a flash of green light erupted from the stick, hit the girl, who promptly screamed and then fell dead to the floor.

He assumed the girl was his biological mother but he had no idea who the man was.

These thoughts and that one memory repeated themselves over and over again, with each passing second he got angrier and angrier, until it reached the point where he was seeing red. Idly he noted his mask was still in place but at this point in time he didn't particularly care.

A pressure behind his eyes increased alongside the anger.

In the end a butterfly set him off. That's right a butterfly. It wasn't doing anything in particular but in a weird way that was what took the cake.

Acting on instinct he lifted his hand, palm open, pointing it at the butterfly. Words flowed to his mouth, the same gibberish he had heard in his dreams, but to his angered mind it wasn't gibberish any more. He recognized it as a language called Latin, and the spell was a killing curse. It was so obvious. How had he not known that before.

'Avada kadavra' he intoned watching with interest as the green light shot from his hand in a similar fashion to the light from the stick. The unsuspecting butterfly dropped limply from the air upon contact with the orb.

Anger released and feeling strangely proud of himself, he returned to the castle, hiding his change in emotion easily.

An hour later found the prince riding on his stag towards the valley temple, his two elven guards walking beside him, one on either side. The coffin, in which was stored the king body, was balanced carefully on three spears. Each one was carried by two guards, one on each end, the spear head's having been removed as a safety precaution. Villagers crowded on either side of the road to the temple, joining the grim parade as it passed, keeping at a respectful distance from Rainion.

Set slightly apart from the rest of the village, on a small rise, the temple was one of the most peaceful locations in the valley. Arches, half covered with vines, reached up into the air over them, tall trees reaching even higher and creating a natural canopy. Somewhere amongst the trees and the brickwork, small pool's of water had formed falling down the walls of the arches in misting waterfalls, gushing down cracks in the earth, where the water from the falls would eventually connect up with the mountain streams, and following the course of rivers to meet up with the sea as all water was destined to do. A smaller waterfall, tumbling over rocks piled to the side of the canopy entrance, poured into a small lake which filled the centre of the tunnel. Dark entrances in the arches led down to smaller chapel's, the tunnel's of which would likely be your doom if you wondered in without knowing your way around. There were creatures down those passages who had once helped the valley people in wars, but after years of nothing to eat but rats and worms they were far to hungry to be able to recognize friends from foe. Only the royal family had nothing to fear from the beasts, as the gems set in the centre of their circlets or crowns (depending on their position in the monarchy) were as good as the black and yellow stripes of bees and wasps that warned other animals away.

Steps of ivory were just about visible from where the procession now stood, the temple they led to standing proud in white splendour, though only a select few knew how to actually get to it, so it had been left untended for years. Ivy crawled up its walls, small purple flowers sprouting amongst the white and green leaves. Faded stain class windows made half formed images, doubtlessly they were once the pride of the kingdom but now panels were missing and damaged.

A priestess made her way to the front, standing with her back to the lake and ruins, clearing her throat in preparation for the long sermon she undoubtedly had prepared, she nodded to the guards holding up the coffin, who in turn place it, still on top of the spears, so that its bottom was pointed towards the crystal clear waters.

"We are congregated here today to honour the life of a great man. A king, a warrior, a husband, a friend, a widow and a loving father. King Nendaer was someone to look up to for all of us, and we pray for his happiness in the land beyond middle-earth. A land where he may finally rejoin his dear departed wife.

We offer up prayers to the judge of death, Namo and the king of gods, Manwë in the hopes that he may make it to the afterlife without hindrance. In accordance to tradition we also send prayers up to Ulmo, vala of the seas, and the patron of our small, humble valley, so that our king's body may forever rest in the eternal seas."

The funeral continued in this way for quite some time. When the time came to push the coffin into the water, the sun had just touched the horizon colouring everything in a fiery orange.

Rainion ignored the pitying gazes on his back, letting his hand rest on the oak surface of the coffin for few seconds, feeling his mask waver, before he gave a hard push, his mask returning back to full strength.

He waited impatiently, as the villagers left one by one, until it was only him, Lithuinir and Írdir left standing at the lake edge. Carefully he waded through the lake, carefully picking out the shallow patches. The sound of splashing water behind him, alerted him that the elves were following him but that was expected. They were to make sure no one tried to enter the temple whilst he was offering up prayers to the valar.

Three hours. That was how long he managed to stay awake doing nothing but praying at the foot of an altar. Then he started to grow drowsy. It felt like weights had been tied to his eyelids, he tried not to blink but in the end he did. That was it. He fell asleep.

_He let a cruel smile slip to his lips. The pathetic child holding onto his second hand coat like a life line couldn't see it. It was to dark for his eyes. But not for his. He knew where he was going. How many times had he come here now? At least sixteen. It wasn't that hard to navigate really. The main passage only really split up if you went really far in, and there was no need to go that deep. He highly doubted the temperature would be survivable anyway._

_He'd discovered the lake by accident. It was only small at his current height it would probably go up to his chest at its deepest point, if a fully grown man were to wade out however, it was unlikely that it would reach past his knees, unless the man in question was particularly small._

_It was amazing how gullible this child was. He knew where the kids stuffed toy was, he had been the one who had stolen it after all, not that the kid needed to know that. What had he done with it any way? Oh yes. That was the fluffy pink thing he had traded with another kid for his blanket._

_It had worked well enough. At first. Then the kid had noticed his precious bunny's disappearance, making an awful racket, and he had had no choice but to offer his 'assistance' otherwise the kid would get matron's attention, questions would be asked and he would find himself neck deep in trouble._

_It would be much better if the kid mysteriously disappeared he had decided._

_He stopped when they reached the ice cold lakes. The drip-drip of stalactites melting slowly into the lake, was like a lullaby to his ears, he often came here when he felt particularly angry, the repetitive sound soothing him until his mask no longer threatened to fall away and leave his emotions wide open to the world._

_He concentrated on the deepest spot, a patch of water to the left of the rocky island in the middle. He had almost drowned there. The sudden dip had caught him by surprise and he had soon lost his footing. It wasn't that deep to him any more, but it would easily go be to deep for the petite child. Orphans weren't given swimming lessons after all. Either you taught yourself or you hoped you wouldn't ever be in a situation where it was required to know._

_Clearing his mind of anything but his destination, he willed himself to appear there alongside the kid. A familiar tugging sensation and the feeling of being squeezed through a rubber tube, each other one after the other, and he suddenly found himself waist high in ice cold water. A terrorized high pitch squeal sounded from next to him, as the kid materialized next to him. There was that split second hesitation that always came before a fall, the time it took for gravity to realize there was suddenly nothing beneath you, time in which you hoped gravity would forget about you. Then the small. The boys feet hit the bottom, and he watched uninterestedly as he floundered at the bottom in an attempt to swim. He was obviously one of the ones who hadn't bothered to learn. To bad._

_Climbing up onto the rocky outcrop in the middle of the lake, he couldn't help but sneer as he watched the last of the bubbles pop and the surface still again. The ability to teleport like that was one of many strange skills that set him apart from those fools back at the orphanage. Talents that made him superior to them in every way possible. He didn't know when he discovered them, but what he did know was that he had no regret for what he had done with them. Most of the people he used his talents on had it coming to them anyway. They were either bullies or pathetic crybabies._

_So what if those weren't reason's to kill someone? It wasn't like he cared. He was and always would be different._

Rainion stirred slightly, fighting back sleep as best he could, opening blurry eyes just long enough to register the flickering candles nearly at their wicks end, before he was pulled back into the world of dreams.

_Long pale fingers stroked his wand. His brown eyes flicked around the room taking in the crest of slytherin engraved on nearly every surface in the room. The dungeons were cold and dimly lit. being, obviously, underground, the only window in the room was fake, charmed to show the grounds outside but that was all. What little light there was came from green glazed glass lamps, swathing everything in green hues. Not that that made much of a difference._

_Salazar slytherin must have been obsessed with the colour, he figured, although this was taking obsession to whole new levels. Green furniture, emerald carpets, jade table he was surprised that the fire in the celadon fireplace wasn't charmed to burn chartreuse._

_Silver frames, embedded with small green gemstones, bordered paintings (moving paintings at that!) of myrtle and brown snakes. Even the painted form of the slytherin founder wore green robes._

_Someone cleared their throat, gaining his and his, thankfully, calm classmates attention._

"_Welcome new slytherin's to our noble house. We are undoubtedly the greatest and most well mannered house in hogwarts. The only other house that comes close in etiquette is ravenclaw and even then that's only because they are to busy reading to be rude or obnoxious. But we of slytherin were raised better than that, we were raised for a purpose, so that we may one day take the place of our parents, as the heads of respectable pure blood family's." the prefect announced gaining cheers from his classmates._

_Pure blood. That word kept coming up. It seemed to matter more in this house than any of the others and it would probably be wise not to let them know that he would be classed as a half blood or that he lived in an orphanage for a while. At least not until he had proven himself of being in their house and he was in no way some low class rat off the street._

"_In slytherin you will be expected to try your best, even if your best isn't very good," Here the prefect paused to raise an eyebrow at two large boys who didn't look like they had half a brain cell between them."If you have any disagreements between you keep it in the common room, outside of this room we stick together, the other houses don't have anything against bullying younger students if they're on their own. Always travel in groups if you can help it." Finished with his speech the prefect showed them to their dorms. He was pleased to discover that, unlike other houses, slytherin's got private room's, which they could personalize however they wanted, even change the style of the furniture once they got far enough in transfiguration, so long as none of the spells were permanent._

_Retiring to his room early, he swept a judging eye over everything. He nodded in exception. He could live with this. Most of the furniture and bedding were in the same colour's as the common room, with a few black and silver objects thrown into the mix. Ignoring the bed and the temptation to throw himself onto the mattress, he quickly strode over to his trunk unpacking his possessions quickly before picking up his book on curses. He'd just gotten to an interesting one, which depending on the amount of magic put into it, could knock someone out for anywhere from days to months. 'stupefy.'_

Golden rays of light peaking through the cracks in the window, forced the prince's eyes open. He bit his lip feeling slightly guilty that he had slept through most of the night when he was meant to be praying for his fathers happiness on the other side.

He thought back to the memories he had seen in his dreams. He'd never seen those ones before. It was strange but he suddenly knew things he hadn't known before he went to sleep. The boy who was the main subject of his more recent memories was called tom riddle. An istari with great potential. But there was an evil there to. He could feel it's sickening and dirty presence through every second of the dream's. His instincts were screaming at him to run, to get away from the foul thing and wash himself of it's ilk. It was like a nightmare, one you can't wake from no matter what you do or how hard you try. In both memories two things had stood out to him the most. Two abilities, spells the boy had called them, one that allowed its user and, or one other person, to teleport to any location, and another which knocked out whoever it hit for a varying amount of time. Remembering the green spell he had used to kill the butterfly when he was angry earlier, Rainion couldn't see any reason why he wouldn't be able to use these spells. Both would surely come in useful once he had learnt to use them properly.

A knock on what was left of the once proud double doors, roused him from his scheming thoughts to his two elven bodyguards who were currently regarding him with concerned expressions. Quickly sculpting his face back into the expressionless mask, he rose from the askew position he had fallen asleep in, striding briskly past his protectors without so much as a good morning. Behind his back Lithuinir exchanged a nervous glance with Írdir before clearing his throat.

"Er... Rainion... we've been thinking," Here he lost confidence breaking himself off before he could finish his suggestion. Írdir took a nervous gulp of air before continuing where his friend left off.

"We were thinking that maybe it was time you removed the mask you seem to have concealed yourself with, or at least around us." He paused before gaining courage when Rainion didn't immediately rebuke him. "Its not healthy to hide your emotions like that, not even we elves can completely hide off our emotions without going insane. So please." He was begging. It was clear from his tone of voice.

A small smile found it's way onto his lips. They were still to overprotective, but they could learn. They would learn.

"We'll see." he replied simply, keeping his back turned to them and pretending not to notice the hopeful smiles being exchanged behind his back. There was no need to let his barriers fall completely but he saw no reason why he couldn't make a few exceptions and let the only two people he had ever truly counted as friends, inside.

They headed back to the castle in silence after that. None of them looked back and the temple and so none of them saw the four figures, smiling happily, well three of them were anyway, watching their disappearing backs. They wouldn't have seen them anyway.

A red headed woman stood next to a scruffy black haired man, a taller proud man with long blonde hair stood slightly behind him. Next to him a spooky individual wrapped in torn black robes, held a large scythe. Beneath the robes was a skeleton, blue flames burnt in his eye sockets.

"Let us go." said the skeleton, his jaw clicking slightly as he talked. His voice was sombre and echoed slightly, although there was no discernible source from which the sound had come from.

"Go? But we haven't seen his whole life." The red head said sounding slightly outraged that she wouldn't get to see the prince get past teens.

"It doesn't matter how long you watch him. That one won't ever have an ending to his beginning and there for his life won't be whole." The cloaked skeleton said in the same gloomy tone. Not in the mood to answer any questions, he swept a skeletal hand through the air, and just like that they vanished, leaving nothing to suggest that they had ever been there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**a.n. All right guys, chapter 4 of the prince of the hills is coming up after this important notice.**

**As promised in the first chapter I am willing to answer any questions asked in the review section. There are a few loose ends in the last chapter that people have spotted or questioned in their reviews. Pay attention because if you repeat questions I'll just direct you to the chapter they were answered in.**

**Psyka asked: who was the blond? (you can find the whole review in the usual place.)**

**Answer: sorry I forgot part of his description, I meant to add a crown, but to answer your question that was a younger version of the king, going off of my belief that you can't be old in the afterlife. This might be confusing if you remember the first chapter where I mentioned him being a brunette before his hair changed to grow. I have gone back and fixed that now, so that it describes his hair as once being blond.**

**KyuubiChild717 asked: is harry going to be evil or just dark, maybe grey? (same note as for Psyka)**

**Answer: good question, but harry won't be any of those, the closest he might end up slightly grey, I'm not certain yet. There are several reason for this. If you read the summary, I state that this will be a slash fanfiction. I am not going to put harry with Sauron or the nazgul, and he has nothing against killing orcs. My second reason is that as much as I like a good fanfiction about dark or evil harry, I have yet to write one myself and do not want to ruin this fanfiction by trying out something new and failing utterly.**

**If there are any more questions or I've overlooked one let me know.**

**Chapter 4 ~ a blond prince's obsession and an ebony prince's loathing**

_day 26, laer ~ the iron hills_

Rainion sat down on his throne. _His throne. _It sounded strange. It had been 2 days since the funeral, though this was the first time he had sat in his fathers- no, his throne. He had yet to be crowned king, so technically he shouldn't be sitting on the throne at all, but their guest was two important to talk to whilst sitting on his- the princes throne. _Mithrandir. _Otherwise known as Gandalf the grey. He had never visited before but everyone knew of the istari, especially his infamous fireworks. Some of the villagers travelled great distances to see them, always coming back with spectacular tales of dragons made of fire, mushrooms made of sparks and fountains made of silver streaks.

It was concerning that he would chose now to visit the kingdom. It was unlikely he came to see the coronation. Few outside of the hills knew that the original king had died, and even fewer knew that the king had a son to take the throne. The only ones that knew, that Rainion was aware of, was the king of rohan, Theoden and his niece, Éowyn, who had come to visit a couple of years back.

When he had heard the tales of Mithrandir, Rainion had always pictured a man in his 50's. In actuality Mithrandir appeared to be in his 100's. Grey worn robes were an identical shade to his tall pointed hat. Grey curls ran down to his shoulders, blending in with his bushy grey beard. Bushing grey eyebrows looked like caterpillars that had made their home on his wrinkled face. He was leaning heavily on a knotted staff, whilst his stormy grey eyes watched him wearily. It was painstakingly obvious why they called him Gandalf the grey.

"Mithrandir. Nice to meet you at last. I take it your not here for the coronation." he said formally, smiling internally when he felt movement to either side of him, alerting him that Lithuinir and Írdir had relaxed their hold on their knives. Though they were probably still holding them.

"The pleasure is mine, prince Rainion. Though I wish the circumstances were happier ones. I trust you know the tales of the one ring?" Mithrandir paused, waiting for the prince to confirm it before continuing."Good. Then I won't waist time in giving you a history lesson." The old man seemed hesitant to continue. Almost as though he wished that Rainion hadn't known of the ring so that he may stall from delivering the bad news that brought him here.

"What is this about, Mithrandir?" He pushed, impatient to know what had the wizard so worried.

"The one ring has appeared again." There was a chorus of sharp intakes of breath at that statement and those listening unwittingly leaned forward, eager to hear what else the old man had to say. "As we speak it is in the possession of a young hobbit friend of mine, who is headed towards rivendell. There is to be a council to discuss the rings fate in two weeks. Lord Elrond would request your presence at this council." Rainion had heard very little mention of hobbits before. His knowledge of them was limited to one paragraph and not a very long on at that. This annoyed him, though he didn't know why. From what he could find hobbits were short creatures, little more than children in the eyes of men. They were sturdy, resilient types and every single one of them had very large appetites.

"We will attend, the coronation will have to postponed until we get back, but that is nothing to make a fuss over. Will you stay the night?" He asked, more out of courtesy than anything, already rising from his throne.

"As much as I would like to say yes, I have business to attend to that must be dealt with before the council. Plus I am sure you and your servants will have your hands full preparing for your journey." Gandalf replied with a small smile.

The wizard left soon after, his dappled grey horse, who must have been nearly as old as his rider, setting off at a fast gallop. Leaving his servants and the elves to prepare for his trip to rivendell, Rainion let his feet carry him in a random direction. Not bothered about his destination. It appeared he wouldn't have chance to try out those two new spells as he had hoped. Ever since the funeral he had been surrounded by worried people, never getting a moments peace to himself. His dreams had been free of memories since that night, leaving Rainion to wonder if the memories were just a dream and the dead butterfly was just a hallucination created by his grief ridden mind.

A white muzzle was shoved in his face, successfully cutting off his train of thought and making the task of keeping his emotions masked difficult. A task that was made even harder when the snuffling stopped abruptly as a pink tongue flicked out to lick his face. Thinking fast he stuck his hands up, successfully stopping most of his face from getting wet. He appeared to have walked to the stables without realizing it. Horses neighed in the background, chucking their heads and stamping their hooves in an attempt at gaining his attention. He spotted Duin and Mallorn, Lithuinir's and Írdir's horses, standing calmly in the stalls adjacent next to this one. Another lick brought his attention back from his inspections.

"Aras! Stop it." He let a small laugh escape his lips when the stag replied by blowing a raspberry. Inspecting the stags coat and legs, he tutted when he saw that they were brown with mud. Grabbing a nearby Dandy brush, starting the daunting task of cleaning the stags legs. Maybe he should have asked for a black stag instead.

Whilst he worked he talked. He liked to talk to Aras. It was silly really, but sometimes he felt like the white deer knew what he was saying. Like he said it was silly, but he was aloud to be silly sometimes.

He told the stag of his fathers death. Of the strange visit from the wizard and the long journey, they and their four companions (counting the horses of course) would be setting out on tomorrow. Finally done with cleaning the stag, Rainion moved onto tack, he polished the mithril barding carefully, he wasn't planning on riding into rivendell whilst Aras was wearing it, that would only make him look spoilt, but this was a meeting about a powerful dark object. The only course of action that was really an option was destroying it, but that meant riding all the way to Mordor. There was a clear view of Mordor from the iron hills, the dark black volcano was easy to make out against the white peaks surrounding that one country. Continuous clouds of smoke and ash streamed from the volcano's crater, painting the sky over the black land black and making it impossible for any plants to grow. That wasn't scary by itself however. A giant tower made of the same black stone as its surroundings, stood tall, reaching higher into the sky than even the volcano. The worst part of the tower however was the giant fiery eye hovering above it. It stared down at the world below, changing direction occasionally to focus it's attention on something else, and every so often it would blink. It would blink but it never slept. Never closed for more than a second.

The eye of Sauron. Many a time Rainion had climbed up the stairs of the tallest tower, to stare out at the eye, wondering, pondering, how Sauron could defy death, clinging to this world, without even a proper body. It had been on one such time, before his fathers funeral, that he watched nine black shapes, barely more than dots from this distance, racing out of Mordor and heading north-west.

Now he knew. The one ring. Somehow it had survived the first war. Everyone knew the rhyme. It was history after all.

_Three rings for the elven-kings under the sky,_

_Seven for Dwarf-lords in their hall's of stone,_

_Nine for mortal men doomed to die,_

_one for the dark lord on his dark throne,_

_in the lands of Mordor where the shadows lie._

_One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,_

_One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them,_

_in the lands of Mordor where the shadows lie._

They had all assumed that the ring had been destroyed by Isildur, when he had cut the ring from the dork lords hand. The history books all told of Elrond leading the young king up and into mount doom. Their books contained no information on what happened inside the volcano, skipping a large period of time, before describing in detail how the king had died.

Isildur had been on a hunt with his guards when they had been ambushed by a group of orcs, left over from the war. He had mysteriously disappeared for a minute before an orc spotted him swimming down the river. Three arrows sealed the kings fate. Nothing more was known about the history of the ring. Not to the people of the iron hills anyway.

Patting Aras on the nose, and promising to pack carrots for the journey, Rainion left the stables heading back to the castle, intent on hitting the library before they left.

The library was by far his favourite room in the castle. Once a ball room, it was a large round room with large stained glass windows and a ceiling that was painted with angels and pegasi. A large chequered floor was polished to the point where it reflected everything above it. Chandeliers of diamond and glass lit the room, making small rainbows dance on the walls, when the slightest breeze caused the candles to flicker.

Grand, decorative, marble bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, separating the room in to passages. Each and every shelf was filled with books. Old and new. Thin and thick. There was enough knowledge contained in this room, to rival that of even the largest elven libraries. A grand staircase led down to the room from the entrance to the rest of the castle, split down the middle by an emerald and gold carpet.

Small wooden desks were scattered in front of the bookshelves, and it was at one of these that Rainion now sat at, a tall stack of books placed next to him. Maps of middle-earth were spread out in front of him, as he tried to find the best route to rivendell from the iron hills. He'd already checked the books for suggestions, but it wasn't a journey often made so no one took the time to right anything down. That was definitely something he would have to correct when they got back. He was currently trying to decide whether it would take more time to go down the old forest path that went straight through mirkwood or whether it would be quicker ignoring the path and going directly through the trees. Írdir was originally from mirkwood after all so they had nothing to fear about getting lost. In the end though he decided that it would be easier to take the path, memories couldn't always be counted after all.

They left early the next morning. People crowded at the sides of the street's, desperate to catch a glimpse of their prince, before he left. Glimpses of him had been rare since the funeral, and with the arrival of Mithrandir, followed by the sudden departure for rivendell and thus the delay of the coronation, everyone knew that this was a lot bigger than one of the princes hunts. The rumour mill was working overtime trying to come up with reasons for this sudden departure. Some believed that the wizard had placed a spell on their prince, though very few actually believed that one, others believed that a new elfling had been born in the elven city, and the prince had been invited to see the child.

It was amusing to hear what the people of the iron hills had come up with. Not that anyone could blame them for getting so excited. Occasions such as this were rare. Everyone knew everything about each other in the village, thanks to it's small size. The only mysteries in the kingdom were to do with the castle, and that was only because you had to be invited to get inside.

Leaving the village and it's cheering people behind, they picked out the path that they knew would lead out of the iron hills and exit on the west side of the redwater river. Not many took this path, it was one of the most dangerous of the mountain paths and most preferred to take one of the easier paths and then catch a lift on one of the fishing boats from lake town or to chance their luck wading across one of the shallower parts of the river.

As such the path was littered with weeds, which hid holes that could become dangerous to a horse, should it's rider not be keeping an eye out. Loose rocks threatened to fall at the slightest disturbance, capable pulling legs out from beneath you and sending you back down the path you had climbed up. It was not the type of path to get easier once you had reached the top. If anything going downhill was the most dangerous and time consuming part of the path.

Thanks to this mountain trail cutting directly between the two tallest mountains, the top was covered in patches of black ice. If you fell when you reached the top, you didn't get back up again. Thus a journey which would have taken half and hour, had the trail been a lower one, took a whole morning, in considerably good weather, to cross, and, should the weather conditions have been bad, it would have have taken double the time, perhaps even triple the time.

The son was at it's highest point in the sky when the finally reached flat land. Looking back, Rainion could make out the mountains that acted like a natural border to his home. He had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be seeing the familiar towers of home for some time. Shaking the feeling off, he looked back at Lithuinir and Írdir, who were watching him intently.

"We stop here for lunch. Let you horses rest. We'll continue when they're ready." He ordered, dismounting Aras, a move which was echoed by the others. They busied themselves with their packs, easily finding the small supply of lembas bread and fruit that the kitchen staff had packed. Breaking off small pieces they sat down, content to watch their mounts graze as they made small talk. Or at least the elves talked, Rainion was happier listening.

The elves always talked about interesting things. Today they talked of their homes. Írdir talked of his old home with a fond smile and a far away look, of the cold winters, the celebration of prince Legolas' birth that lasted for two years before things finally calmed, and the rush of activity when the dwarves had escaped from their prisons on their journey to reclaim the lonely mountains.

"Pity really." He told them as Lithuinir nodded in agreement. "Middle-earth could do without thirteen dwarves."

"You'd think that they'd take a leaf out of an elven book and learn some manners. It's disgusting. They stopped at rivendell for awhile, on that so called journey of theirs. When they left we had run out of wine, their were food stains on the walls and we all had splitting headaches. They even had the audacity to interrupt our music, daring to sing those revolting drunkard ditties that they dare to call songs." Lithuinir ranted, momentarily losing the calm air that elves always seemed to wear like a veil.

"Surely they weren't that bad." Rainion said exasperatedly, it had taken him awhile to get used to the strong detest elves had for dwarves and he still didn't understand it completely. It seemed that both races were incapable of saying anything nice about the other. He wondered if they would ether come to terms with each other, but the harder he thought about, the more improbable it seemed.

"No. They were worse. I was putting it mildly." The brunette dead panned. The elves put the subject of dwarves behind them, as they mounted again, heading towards mirkwood at a trot. The conversation continued, although the topic was changed to rivendell.

It was Lithuinir's turn to look longingly into the distance, and his voice was laced with excitement as he went into great detail about everything he could think of, from his constant thefts of the cooks supply's, of Estel's arrival at the elven citadel and the numerous pranks pulled off by Elladan and Elrohir.

"Elrond was furious at them naturally. Glorfindel still had flour in his hair weeks later." By the time the elf had finished his latest tale, which was a prank the elf twins had pulled on the balrog slayer. The group were in gales of laughter as they pictured the usually calm and serious elf running his fingers continuously through his golden locks in a futile attempt at getting all the flour out. He wouldn't have been able to wash his hair, or he would risk the flour turning into a paste.

They had reached the first trees of the forest now. Aged bark formed trunks and branches that reached high above them, like giant people trying to embrace the world. Leaves of varying shades grew from wooden fingers and moss coated large roots like a blanket. The fading sunlight filtered through the foliage in fiery ribbons, lighting the cobbled stones of the old forest path. The edge of the forest stretched for forty leagues to either side, making it seem like the forest never ended, although, logically, they had seen maps of the forest and knew that if they rode far enough in one direction they would come to the edge. That would take them several days however, as well as taking them way off course.

The journey through mirkwood would take four days as long as they stuck to the path, then they had another five days ride to get over the misty mountains, after that it was only a days walk to Rivendell.

They set up camp for the night, deciding that it would be better to walk through the forest in daylight, when they could actually see where they were going.

Írdir took the first watch and Rainion fell asleep easily.

_He watched the old professor in annoyance. He was the only one. The only teacher that didn't think he was a model student. The only teacher that thought there was something more to the poor orphan, 'tom marvolo riddle'. He supposed he should feel thankful towards the meddling transfiguration professor. After all, if it weren't for Professor Dumbledore he would still be in the dark about his magic. Still living with them 12 months a year, instead of just the 2 months he was forced to endure during the summer holidays. Still thinking he just a more superior form of them. In a way he was. Just not in the way he had first thought._

_But instead of the thankfulness he should feel, all he felt for the man was a cold hate. That man, that professor, symbolized everything he wanted. That man had a family. A pure blood family. He was respected, recognized, by every wizard, dark or light, in the wizarding world. He was in a position of power. He was friends with Nicholas flamel. The Nicholas flamel. The most acknowledge alchemist. The inventor of the philosopher's stone. An alchemical master piece. A stone that looked and felt like a ruby, about the size of his fist. An object worth more than all the gold in the slytherin and gaunt vault's combined, capable of turning led into gold, but most importantly, it could produce the elixir of life. An elixir which could give him immortality._

_He would do anything, give anything, to gain immortality. Most people were content with gaining immortality in the sense that even when they died they would still be remembered, whether it was for a particularly impressive painting, some great act of courage or some other notable act. That wasn't enough for him. He wanted to actually be immortal. To outlive even the oldest man. That was what he wanted._

_He was not ashamed in any way to say he was a very prejudiced person. Not in the same way as Malfoy or Zabini of course, that would make him a hypocrite, but he did believe that muggleborns should be banned and contact with muggles cut off. He didn't care about blood, or the light or the dark. All that mattered was magic. Magic and power. He lived his life by one saying, and one saying only: 'there is no good or bad, only power and those to weak to seek it'._

_Finding out that his father was a filthy muggle and it was actually his mother who was the witch had angered him. One of his many prejudices was that women were below men. He had been certain that it was his father who was magical, after all, why would his mother have died if she had magic to heal herself with. As such he had been disgusted to find out that the very man his mother had had just enough time to name him after before her demise, was muggle._

_He had been somewhat soothed when he discovered that his mothers family, the gaunt's, were the last wizarding family related to Salazar slytherin, as proven by the astounding number of uncles he had that could only talk parselmouth._

_Devoting every free second he had to the library, he read boring page after boring page, soaking up every tip bit he could get on his house founder. Their wasn't as much about the head of the house of snakes as their was about, say, the head of the house of lions. Most of what he found was written by pure blood supremacist's and as such was probably biased. What he did find that was repetitive through every account, although it was usually hidden behind useless information such as how he helped to build hogwarts or where he was born, and many flowery words and sugar coated praise. The chamber of secrets. A chamber that Salazar built to house a great beast, that his ancestors could unleash on the muggleborns that dared to come to hogwarts._

_In the end it had taken a late-night conversation with the parselmouth portrait of the house founder to discover the chambers location and the type of beast that lay inside. He probably would have figured it out easily had someone else unleashed the beast. A basilisk, the king of snakes, was an obvious choice for a parselmouth to use as a familiar after all. It would be a simple case of listening to the beast talking through the walls, to figure out that he was moving through the plumbing. Then he would have simply had to trace it back to the one bathroom with a faulty and bingo. You have your entrance, your chamber and your beast._

_Unleashing it had been a risk. He didn't have complete control over the snake and it could very easily attack a teacher or pure blood by accident. The attack failed anyway. Two students were paralysed but none had died._

_The second time he let the monster loose had been more difficult. He had more control but the teachers were wary after the last track and were keeping a closer eye on their students. Paralysis again._

_The final time he had been luckier. A young muggleborn first year hufflepuff, named myrtle had died._

_That was why he was now in his current position. Pretending to be simply curious he had stood on the stairs and watched as the body was carried out on a stretcher. Wizards were more scared of danger than he first thought however. According to this 'professor' hogwarts would close if the monster was caught. He had to do something. He wouldn't be sent back to that place. Not permanently. Perhaps... yes. That would do. The half giant- Hagrid, that was his name, he'd been keeping an acromantula for a year now, if he got the blame, the ministry and teachers would feel safe again. He might even get an award._

_Yes. The half-breeds time was up._

_day 26, laer ~ mirkwood_

They had been riding for a whole day now in pitch black darkness. It had started out okay. The sun was slightly filtered by the leaves above them but enough still got through that they could see around them. Moss growing on the trunks and branches of the grand tree's had tinted the light a green colour, falling blossoms floated past on a gentle breeze, both effects gave the old, worn track a mysterious feel. It was the type of scene an artist would come for miles to paint and then would sell to royalty for thousands of castar.

Then the tree's got denser, it got to the point where it was hard to tell where one tree ended and another began. They were surrounded on both sides by a wall of brown bark, even the sky was completely blocked from view. The layers of leaves having gotten thicker, as the trunks from which they sprouted grew closer together.

They were now riding without the sun to light there way, depending on the endless wall of trunks on either side to stop them from straying from the path.

This was where they were now, they had dismounted half an hour ago, unwilling to let their mounts struggle along the path whilst they sat safely on their backs.

Roots reached out to trip them. Branches hung low in an attempt to take them out. Thorns snagged on their clothing. And all the while they were unable to give their full attention to the treacherous path, to busy keeping an eye(or rather an ear) out for any potential danger. There were to many opportunities for an animal or a stray orc to ambush them, the dark kept them as good as blind, randomly changing from pitch black to a point where it was just about possible to see, making it impossible for their eyes to adjust.

It seemed like the very forest had turned against them, every thing seemed like it was against them. They sped up when they felt the path beneath them start to head down hill, the darkness was starting to get to them. Seeming to come alive. Trying to envelop them. To eat them alive.

Idle talk was cut down to warning's now. The occasional, 'watch out for that root' or 'There's a low branch just in front of you, Rainion' was about all they could bring themselves to say. Their mood had plummeted and conversation was no longer enough. Every time they tried to say something converting, their voices would echo off of the trees, making it seem as though the wood was mocking them. Taunting them.

The gurgling of a stream ahead of them brought welcome joy. They knew where they were now. That was the stream Írdir had talked of when he had indulged them with tales of his home. It was the only stream to cross the old forest path. Quite narrow it would be easy to step across and the water it provided wasn't drinkable, but it was close to the west entrance of the forest. That stream meant that it would start getting lighter soon. That was, it would start getting lighter if the sun hadn't already set. It was hard to tell. They had woken up that morning, at least they thought it was morning, they hoped it was morning, it had been hard to tell. It had been just as dark when they got up as it had been when they had gone to sleep so there was no way to tell what time of day it was.

It would be a relief to get out of mirkwood. The path was a far cry from the comfort the city would have offered. Desperate to get out of the dark they had skipped lunch, deciding it would be better to enjoy a meal in the light rather than in the dark.

Light didn't return soon enough for their tastes. It was as though someone had put a filter on the sun so that only it's smallest rays could reach them.

When it got to the point where they could see each other again, they mounted, spurring their stead's into a canter, desperate to put as much distance between them and that hope consuming darkness as possible before nightfall. At the speed they were going, it was no surprise when the trees thinned quicker than they had when they had been walking, light returned faster, eventually coming to a point where they fell that their mounts could see enough to gallop safely.

Cobblestones faded away with the trees, until the companion were racing across open grass land. The misty mountains rose above them in the distance, appearing small from this distance. Rocks jutted out from the grassy plains, forcing them to swerve in a complicated serpentine but none of them slowed. In fact they didn't stop at all until Duin, Mallorn and Aras were at the point of collapsing.

The next few days, in which they rode over the mountains and the short distance between them and rivendell, contained as little resting as they could help. Anxious to return to civilization they pushed themselves to the limit, making it to rivendell two days before they had anticipated.

_day 35, laer ~ rivendell_

Legolas was excited. If you weren't an elf it would probably be impossible to tell, but he was. It had looked to be the usual boring century of meeting's and balls. He hadn't seen something like this coming but it was a more than welcome escape from his princely duties. He had practically begged his Ada to let him be mirkwoods representative at the council of lord Elrond.

Now he was at rivendell. It had been two hundred summers since he had last seen its comforting walls and his best friend Estel, and if he had to put up with the ill-mannered presence of a couple of dwarves, so be it. Besides, they were easy enough to avoid. He only had to see them during meals and the council, and even then he didn't have to actually talk to them.

The hobbit, frodo, rumoured to carry the ring of power, had only recently woken up from a coma, which as far as Legolas knew, he had been in since one of the nazgul had stabbed him. Lucky he was alive really. Had he arrived any later, it would have been to late.

The clopping of hooves on stone, brought the elven prince's attention to the gates, approaching which were three travellers. He could only assume they were the last representative's invited to the council. They were punctual. Two day's early in fact.

Not much was known about this last party. They were from a kingdom settled in the iron hill's. He knew that much. Until he had asked Elrond about it, Legolas hadn't even known there was a kingdom there. Apparently the kingdoms prince was among the group currently approaching. Legolas knew what his father expected in this type of situation and he prepared himself to put up with a spoilt brat. He sighed. Sometimes politics could be annoying.

A gorgeous rare white stag, with an intelligent look in his eyes, walked slightly in front of two pedigree horses. His expectations for the prince dropped even lower, or at least they did, until he caught sight of the stags rider. Then his opinion did a complete 360. His thought that the prince was probably spoilt was forgotten in favour of a more appealing thought. The prince was gorgeous!

Standing at around 6', he was nearly as tall as Legolas himself. Long ebony locks were held back in a high ponytail by a ruby ribbon. Emerald eyes stared out at the world, from behind long black lashes. His face resembled that of the most finally crafted marble sculpture. His skin tone was a pale but not sickly alabaster, fine dark eyebrows were set onto a crease-less forehead and lips of a pale pink were slightly parted, but not a single emotion was displayed, as though who ever made him had forgotten to give him a personality.

A royal blue cloak, fastened by a beautifully crafted golden rose, rippled down his lithe sides, revealing a crimson jerkin(similar to his own, except for the colour) and white under shirt. Brown leather leggings with intricate designs embroidered in golden thread, disappeared beneath high knee black boots.

His hands, which were currently guiding the stag through the use of golden rope, were the same porcelain shade as his face, unmarred, as though they had never been used. His whole body glowed with immortality. Not the immortality that he and the other elves shared, but true immortality. Immortality that made it impossible for him to die. Via old age or any other cause.

If appearances showed a persons personality, the prince would have the disposition of an angel and would be a fly would be able to do more damage in battle than he could. If the bow on his back and the sword and hunting knives hanging from his belt were anything to go by, however, this angel was more like a poisonous plant. Beautiful but deadly.

His companions were obviously elves. They held themselves with the same natural grace that all elves did, appearing to do so effortlessly. He recognized one of them as Írdir, a son of one of his Ada's adviser's. He hadn't known the elf for long before he had gone with his cousin to offer aid to some city or other. Apart from the occasional letter, they had heard neither head nor heel of him since. Well at least now they knew what had become of him.

The other elf he assumed must be Lithuinir. An elf of rivendell origins if he remembered correctly.

Neither were as interesting as the prince though. Legolas quickly ducked his head when he felt heat rising in his cheeks.

The noise of shuffling feet caught his sensitive ears, causing him to look across sharply. It appeared he wasn't the only one interested in the prince of the iron hills. All the gondorion's were currently admiring their shoe's, and, if his elven eyes didn't deceive him, so was his best friend.

Elrond stepped out of his study at the rider's approach, nodding his head in greeting to the dark wonder riding up front.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Prince Rainion. Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo." '_A star shines on the hour of our meeting'_ The lord greeted formally, bowing his head in respect.

"Aiya, heru Elrond." _Hail, lord Elrond. _Prince Rainion replied, dismounting gracefully. His feet barely making a sound as they came into contact with the ground. Seconds later his elven companions had copied his actions.

Reluctantly they handed the reigns of their proud mounts over to the stable hands before following the lord of rivendell to their rooms, much to the disappointment of the prince's admirers.

_day 39, laer ~ rivendell_

It was useless he decided, ducking through another door in a useless attempt to escape his stalkers. It didn't matter what he did or where he went, someone was always staring. Watching. That wasn't quite true. He appeared to have lost them for now. Although he noticed that he had also lost himself. He wandered down a dusty corridor, turning the occasional corner, trying to recognize where he was so that he might navigate his way back to the more populated rooms. Stares be damned.

Tapestry's, faded and age worn hung on the walls, half obscured by cobwebs and statues of elven maidens. Empty candelabras stood on sheet covered tables. It was obvious that no one used this corridor much. Besides his, there were only three sets of footprints on the dust covered carpet. One set were fainter as though they were old or their maker had a light step, from their size he assumed they were female. The other two sets were clearer and larger, made by boots by the looks of it, and obviously males. Probably two of the representatives the other cities had sent.

All three sets led to a door at the end of the, surprisingly, long corridor.

Curiosity took over and Rainion found himself pushing the door open. The door gave way silently which surprised him. He had been expecting it to be in a state of disrepair, just as most of the objects in the corridor had been. Walking into the room was like walking into a house of healing when compared to the dusty passage leading to it. Either time had forgotten this room or someone had taken great care to make sure it didn't end up in ruins.

Large, laborious paintings, framed with silver made up the walls. Each depicted an image of an elf and human army fighting against legions of orcs. Some showed victory, for example one showed a young looking elf, probably no older than 2000 summers and baring an extraordinary resemblance to a certain elf lord he could think of, talking to a man with neatly trimmed, long brown hair, similar to Estel in appearance without the grey colours of old age. Others showed defeat, one in particular stood out. An enemy kitted out in so much polished black armour that it was impossible to see beneath. He held onto a wicked, sharp mace like weapon in one metal encased hand, whilst the other was stretched out towards a man. An old man, in his late 60's. A golden crown adorned his head but he had no other features that particularly stood out, his appearance was similar to the appearance of the brown haired youth presumably his father. He was sprawled out on cold black stone, staining it red with his blood. Mordor. This took place in the land of shadows.

The part of the drawing that drew the his attention the most however, was a circle of gold on the middle finger of the outstretched hand. A ring. The one ring. He let his eyes linger on it for a couple of seconds before flicking them down to the golden plaque beneath the painting. '_The fall of Elendil' _was engraved in looping letter's. He shivered. The painting was one of those things that horrified you and yet you couldn't bring yourself to look away from.

Something glittered in the corner of his eye, and Rainion finally brought his eyes away from the gory picture on the wall to fix his gaze on the only statue in the room.

It was, as was every statue in Rivendell, a carving of an elvish maiden, but this one was... different somehow. A cloak covered the figures hair and most of her dress. It was her position that was the most different however. They were held out in front of her as though she had been receiving something when someone had decided to carve her. Someone had draped her cold stone arms with blue velvet, upon which was the item that had drawn his attention. Glittering, silver shards of a sword which must have once been finely forged and about 4 feet in length. By the looks of it it was still sharp. A crusted red spot on one of the shards made it clear that someone had already found that out by accident. This was presumably Isildur's sword. _Interesting._

_day 40, laer ~ rivendell_

Rainion took his place in the council room. He would be glad when this ring business was over and he could return home. Ever since his arrival at rivendell he had been followed everywhere he went by a group of men and elves. It was obvious that they thought they were being discreet. They would loiter in the hallways he was walking down, hoping he would start a conversation with them. Or occasionally they would walk calmly past the open doorway to a room he happened to be in, before circling around so that they passed the door several hundred times. Even more embarrassing was the fact that not all of them were female.

He was glad the dwarves and hobbits seemed to have heads on their shoulders. Heads that thought the world revolved around food and mining, not letting things like testosterone cloud their judgement. It didn't matter what Lithuinir and Írdir had to say about them, the dwarves were currently looking better than elves, especially considering that the mirkwood prince himself was one of the larger offenders for gawking, although thankfully the blond elf had yet to start stalking him in the halls. Or at least as far as he or his bodyguards knew.

He hadn't had much conversation with the dwarves, as no matter how much he tried to change their minds, his elven friends simply refused to sit with those 'rude, bloodthirsty, melt head's', not that they were welcome anyway, so most of his conversations had been with the halfling's. Not that he was complaining.

He really should write a book when he got back. There were just so many things that hadn't been considered important enough to put in text, that would be seriously useful in situations like these. Besides their journey through mirkwood and the true history of the one ring would make for really good reading for future generation's.

The halfling's had told him a lot. Apparently all four of them originated hobbiton in the shire. Hobbiton was a village in the central regions of the Shire, within the borders of the West-farthing. Hobbiton was located on both sides of the Water, approximately a mile north-west of the neighbouring village of Bywater. The Bywater Road passed through both villages and connected them to the Great East Road to the south. Frodo had originally been an underhill before one of his relations, Bilbo Baggins had adopted him. Now he made his home in the baggin's family ancestral home, bag end.

Rainion had listened in amusement as the excitable hobbits recounted the quest for the lonely mountain, he laughed when they talked of the trick's Bilbo had pulled on the dwarves and the strange creature named Gollum. It was interesting to hear the tales from the halfling's point of view. He had heard the tale before of course. Lithuinir and Írdir often used parts of the dwarves quest to prove their own point about their uncouth ways. The villagers would return from various visits to family outside of the iron hills telling anyone willing to listen of the most recent adventures and it didn't take long for it to reach a guard or servants and consequently, his ears.

Thankfully the five days to the council had come and gone quickly so with any luck he wouldn't be in gawking distance any more. Only the representatives had been invited to the council, meaning that there were only three sets of eyes on him. If he had their names correct, the owners of the eyes were; Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, Estel, the last of the Dúnedain and Legolas, prince of mirkwood, son of Thranduil.

Legolas. For some reason, though he didn't no why, just thinking of the blond elf sent a spark of anger through his whole being. He didn't know why but he had pinned higher standards to the elf, none of which the blond would ever be capable of meeting, he was sure. He felt like the princess from the book he had been reading in one of his dream memories. Something along the lines of 'taming of the Shakespeare' by '_William shrew', _although he hoped his ending wasn't the same as hers. He'd hate to be forced into marriage.

He wanted the elf to change in several ways before he would even consider the other prince as an option for courting. First and foremost the immortal would have to stop staring, such a thing was unbecoming for a prince after all. The prince of mirkwood would have to do something very impressive to gain his attention. For example he would have to survive an encounter with a balrog, defeat an oliphaunt or journey through the valley of Harrowdale. If the prince completed even one of these, Rainion would at least pay him some of the attention the poor elf seemed to desperately crave. It was blatantly obvious, no matter how hard Legolas tried to hide it. His body gave him away every time.

His cheeks might be flushed red, the rosy colour standing out against his pale skin tone, he might suddenly decide he didn't like his hairstyle or, and Rainion had caught this on more than one occasion though no one else seemed to notice, there was a rather large lump at the top of his leggings, which, when he noticed, would cause the rather embarrassed prince to disappear for the rest of the afternoon, presumably to take a long cold bath.

The other two had his interest, either would make a good partner, not that he cared. He wasn't really interested in either of them in _that_ way. However both could be great fun to toy with.

Estel was obviously ashamed of his feeling for him, perhaps because the man was already in a relationship with a female elf named Arwen, perhaps because he had never had feelings for another man before. Either way he didn't particularly care, people like that were fun to flirt with. He'd done it often enough on his hunts.

Boromir appeared to be the type that thought himself superior. As far as Boromir was concerned he probably thought he would have Rainion begging to be in his bed by the end of the week. No doubt he also thought he would be the one on the dominant side. _Hmph. _Fat chance of that ever happening. However people like that could usually be goaded into doing the stupidest of things to prove themselves.

Rainion supposed he should feel guilty about planning to mess with not one but two boys, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Someone cleared their throat at the front of the room and twelve pairs of eyes looked up at the elven lord.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate–this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." Elrond declared dramatically, gesturing towards a pedestal in the centre of the room once he had finished speak.

Frodo stood up from his chair nervously, stepping forwards and placing the ring from the chain around his neck on the white stone. There was a slight murmur around the room as it's occupants caught sight of the plain gold jewellery.

A whisper started in the back of Rainion's mind.

'_Take me,_' The ring said, '_For one such as yourself it would be no trouble to kill everyone in rivendell. I could make you powerful. You could reclaim your mother and father from the skeletal hands of death. No one would ever fuss over you or stare after you again. You could have it all. All you have to do is reach out and take me. I'm just a ring after all. What harm could a circle of cold possibly do?' _it whispered rhetorically and seductively. Rainion ignored it. What kind of 'ordinary ring' could talk?

A chair scraped on the floor as someone stood. Lazily glancing to side he recognized the person to be Boromir. Figures.

"So it is true..." he breathed as though in a trance. "It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him!" He paced around the room. How idiotic could you get? He let himself rise, gaining the attention of everyone listening to the conversation.

"I hate to rain on your parade, Boromir, but you are speaking nonsense." He started sympathetically, pretending to actually care what the steward thought was important. He ignored the splutters he received from the red head, continuing before anyone could stop him. Not that anyone want. He now had everyone's complete interest, even those who had been ignoring the debate in favour of staring at the ring. "That ring is the source of Sauron's power, the only thing keeping him alive. Are you suggesting we use Sauron... against himself?" He gave a face of confusion. The next move the Gondorian made was the wrong one.

"Why don't you leave thinking to your betters and concentrate on looking pretty?" He asked in a voice that made it obvious he considered himself one of those so called betters. Two more chairs scraped on the tiles of the council room and the Gondorian found himself with three arrows pointed in his direction.

"Do not think, Gondorian, that I wear these weapons for decoration, for I can wield these weapons just as well as any elf, and the only thing you currently have over me is experience, and I can assure you that you won't even have that much longer." Rainion spoke in a deadly quiet voice, barely more than a slight hiss but everyone heard it. For a second the sun seemed to turn black as a sudden invisible breeze blew through the room making his hair fly around his face.

"I suggest you sit down and keep your mouth shut, man of Gondor, lest you find yourself breathing through the shafts of three arrows." Lithuinir threatened before he and Írdir took their seats again with Rainion not far behind. Once everyone was seated again, Mithrandir spoke up.

"Prince Rainion is right. We cannot use it." He said gravely. Elrond quickly spoke up before anyone could disagree.

"You have only one choice. The ring must be destroyed." Gimli, representative of the dwarves, took over, axe raised.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He asked and before anyone could stop him, he had brought his axe down in a sweeping arc. The blade of his axe exploded on impact, the shards flying in multiple directions. It was a miracle really that no one was hit. Rainion noted absently that Frodo's hand had flown to his forehead upon the axe's contact with the cursed ring, as though he had been struck with a sudden headache. It seemed the ring already had a tight grip on the young Halfling.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Elrond reprimanded the dwarf. "One of you must do this."

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!" By this time Boromir had gotten over having three arrows pointed at him and had to object to the ring being taken to Mordor.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!" It was Estel's turn to get a word in, munch to the stewards annoyance.

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" He asked. Legolas stood up next, quick to the defence of his friend.

"This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." The Gondorian blinked in shock before turning to Aragorn with disbelieving eyes.

"Aragorn? This… is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas responded. More shocked expressions were sent in the rangers direction before the topic was brought back to the matter at hand with a rather sharp cough from the lord of rivendell.

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!" Gimli exclaimed as Legolas opened his mouth, to, presumably, volunteer. What followed next could only be described as chaos. Only six figures, Frodo, Mithrandir, Elrond, Rainion, Írdir and Lithuinir, remained seated, the rest of the rooms arguments rose to their feet, arguing amongst themselves, their voices growing in volume with each declaration. Frodo seemed to take a deep breath, rising to his feet. He said something quietly but over the noise it was impossible to hear what had been said.

Mithrandir, obviously fed up of the noise, spoke out, his voice echoing around the room in deep tones.

"**Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,**

**_ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._**** Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,** **_ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." _**The black speech of Mordor shut everyone up. Rainion had only been able to find a few book's on the dark language but he knew enough to translate what had just been said. _One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them._ Silence rained for several minutes as everyone regained their composure before a timid voice caught everyone's attention. "I will take it. I will take the ring to Mordor." Frodo seemed to gain confidence after the first sentence before he became embarrassed by the incredulous stares pointed at him, and his voice quietened as his cheeks flushed pink. "Though I do not know the way..." He trailed off. Mithrandir rose to stand next to the Hobbit. He gave the small creature a pitying smile, leaning heavily on his staff as though age had suddenly caught up on him. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear." he let a hand come to rest on the halfling's shoulder before turning his attention to Aragorn who had also approached the ring bearer upon his declaration. The Ranger knelt on one knee drawing his sword. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. You have my sword." He rose moving aside for Legolas who had come to stand behind him. "And you have my bow." Not one to be out done by an elf, Gimli soon joined in the oath. "And my axe!" Sighing Rainion stood gracefully, going to stand next to the others of the growing group. "Naturally we will be coming as well," He gestured to his Bodyguards who had followed him and now stood next to the prince of mirkwood. "Who knows what would happen if we let an elf and a dwarf travel together without supervision? You wouldn't get anywhere. Besides nobody knows Mordor as well as we do. We have lived across from the black lands for at least six years after all." Rainion said, although his actual reasons for going were more along the lines of avoiding the coronation. He didn't have anything against being king. It was more along the lines of not wanting to get tied down to the castle before he had seen Middle earth for his own eyes. Not to mention that this sounded like the most exciting thing that was going to come around in his life time. "You bare the fates of us all little one." Finished Boromir although he seemed more interested in Rainion. The bushes at the edge of the council room rustled before the other three hobbits pushed their way through. "Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" yelled the red headed Hobbit, Sam. "Indeed," Agreed Elrond. "it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Elrond spoke in an amused tone.

"Wait! We are coming too!" Peregrin and Meriadoc said in unison.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" Meriadoc crossed his arms stubbornly.

"Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing." Peregrin floundered slightly.

"Well that rules you out Pip." Meriadoc finished with a grin.

"Twelve companions… So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" Elrond declared obviously wanting the last word, which he lost to Peregrin anyway.

"Great! Where are we going?"

With that amusing sentence the council was finished. It was going to be an interesting journey indeed.

In the corner of Elrond's council room, invisible to mortal eyes, stood a fair haired woman. Soft white linen was draped around her, floating slightly on a non-existent breeze. A golden ribbon was secured around her waist, matching nicely with her sky blue dress. She watched with a sad smile as the young prince, whom she had found herself watching on more than one occasion, dismissed the one who could bring him true happiness, just as he did for the others. She wished she could interfere like her sister could but alas, she couldn't. All she could do was watch and decide, but even then, her decisions weren't mandatory. The mortals term 'Defying destiny' wasn't just a figure of speech. It was her sister who had the real power when choosing what would happen to the earth dwellers. She could only hope that her sister would agree with her on her decisions, just as she currently was now. Rainion would not spend his life alone if she had anything to say about it.


End file.
